Waltyr Tully
Waltyr Tully is the current Lord of the Trident, and head of House Tully. He was the Hand of the King, having been risen to the position after the dismissal of Prince Beron Baratheon. Following the death of Orys Baratheon, he was dismissed from Handship in favour of Lord Corin Stark. Appearance Waltyr has not slept pleasantly for nearly three decades now, and his face shows it. Heavy bags hang from underneath the elderly Tully's cerulean eyes like saddlebags on a pack-mule. The skin of his cheeks sag like wilting paint on an old canvas, and deep wrinkly crevices separate his brow. These marks of age, however, do not detract from the overall sharp look the man has become known for. His hair, while no longer the lush red his family is known for, remains full and well groomed, his beard and mustache cut and shaven. While not constrained to a single outfit, the Lord of the Trident tries to constrain his wardrobe to darker colors - blacks, grays, purples. Above whatever clothing he is wearing is an ever-present silver seven-pointed-star. Biography Waltyr Tully was born in 341 AC to the ever pious Franklyn Tully and the shrewd Darla Mooton, a birth that his mother never quite recovered from, only giving birth the one more son a long nine years later. This long stretch of failed births sowed discord between the Lord and Heir of the Trident over how the only son was to be raised. Lord Hoster, a renowned scholar and author of many historical treaties, wanted the young scion to be sent to the Citadel as he had. The boy’s father wanted to raise his progeny in emulation of one or more of the Seven Aspects, the Father and Smith being Waltyr’s aspects. The two did not come to a resolution for years, and with his authority as Lord, Hoster had the heir-to-be tutored almost exclusively by the castle’s maester. Time was spared for him to learn how to properly use a sword, and to sit in at council to learn the ways of Lordship, of course, but these times were few and far between. This lead to Waltyr learning how to read and write at the young age of four, while also stunting his martial prowess. When Waltyr’s only brother, Quincy, had finally come into the world, that thread of discord between Lord Hoster and Franklyn had loosened. The two came to a begrudging arrangement, where Franklyn was allowed to mold Quincy after the warrior, and Waltyr was to be sent to the Citadel. The young Waltyr never felt welcome at the Citadel. At an age so young, and having only been allowed in the campus through his grandfather’s scholarly renown and connections, the little riverlord was alienated. He barricaded himself up in his room, only leaving to eat and to attend lectures. Over time, he grew to hate his grandfather for sending him to the Citadel. He had loved reading, but to be sent away from his family? From the only other place he knew? History hadn’t even interested him all that much, and yet he was forced to study it day and night? Waltyr had enough. He was not going to let some damn fool thousands of miles away tell him how to live his life. He was to be *Lord* of Riverrun, not the scholar. Instead of history, the boy switched his focuses to economics and law, a choice that would lay the foundations of his rule. He also began to dabble in the art of alchemy, an interest that had grown from conversations and demonstrations he had with various alchemists over lunch. By the age of ten and nine, he had become proficient at memorizing the labyrinthine laws of Westeros, though he would not earn the chain links for law nor economics. Elixirs and poisons, too, had become second hand to the man. He was even studying to earn the link before a raven arrived the Citadel, it’s letter informing him of Lord Hoster’s death. He was to return to Riverrun, and “learn how to truly rule” as his father had put it. Alchemy What his father had meant became clear the first day Waltyr had returned. Franklyn had heard of his son’s studies in the Citadel, and he wished to test what he had learned. He was made Steward of Riverrun, and was to remain so until he was to be Lord. Less prestigious was his appointment as cupbearer. The previous one, his uncle Elwood, had become a drunkard and had proven his incompetence. “Who better than an alchemist to handle my wine?” A jest Waltyr did not appreciate. Over the years, it seemed that Waltyr had passed his father’s trial-by-fire with flying colors. In the first few years he had molded the lower stewards and scribes of Riverrun into a diligent workforce. Taxes flowed as the should have, harvest records were kept in pristine order, and any news of bandit threats were quickly quashed. The heir had even taken his duty as cupbearer seriously, despite his father’s insistence that it was a jest. While he far more prefered tea, any spirit or liquor the Lord had even thought of consuming had been tasted by his heir many times over. He was not a drinker himself, but he did know their taste and their proper contents. Drinkmaster With Lord Fraknlyn’s just and pious nature, and Waltyr’s administrative skills, the Riverlands remained relatively stable and peaceful. It was fifteen years since his appointment as Steward before this time of peace was threatened. The Great Schism began to raise it’s ugly head, and the heir had received word of the violence associated with the heretical Smiths. While the worst of it was centered around the Westerlands and the Reach, some of the violence had begun to spill into the Riverlands as well. To keep an eye on the heretics, Waltyr began to enlist help. Wandering Brown Brothers, merchants, hedge knights, shepherds, and common septgoers were all sought out, payed for any information they could offer on their local holy men. Quickly, the heir had developed a network throughout the Riverlands, where any news of Smith activity tracked and recorded. Espionage It was this network that informed Waltyr of a gathering of Smiths at Stoney Sept. Alarmed, he informed his father of the situation, fearing that without his intervention bloodshed would be an inevitability. Heading his son’s advice, Lord Franklyn departed to Stoney Sept to ensure whatever was occurring would go smoothly, taking with him his squire - Waltyr’s son Roland. What followed is known as Showdown at Stoney Sept, a conflict that resulted in the deaths of Franklyn and Rolland. Their demise was attributed, at least for the majority, to the Smiths. The now Lord Waltyr’s response was swift. Utilizing his network, all known Smith sympathising septons were outed. While the death of these smith sympathizers at the hands of roving bands of faithful were not openly supported by the Lord, neither were they punished. Expertise The decade that followed was a quiet one, the only real change being the replacement of his father’s Septon of Stoney Sept with a more militarily minded command. The Showdown had sapped much of the Lord’s previous diligent enthusiasm and replaced it with seething contempt. As the years went on, the less and less he appreciated those around him. His own family seemed more interested in drinking and eating their worries away than fulfilling any meaningful duty doled out to them, and his previously diligent steward force seemed to have slowed and grown lazy in his eyes. His court looked more a feast of gluttons and sloths to him than anything resembling competent. This contempt only grew during the Third Targaryen Rebellion. Failure after failure marked the beginning of the invasion, with his own Lord Frey ignoring all logic and command. I some attempt to win favor with the lords, the Frey went to attach his forces with the King’s, to partake in what he thought was a sure victory against the invading Targaryens. What he got was the Battle of Smoke and Sorrow. When the Targaryen sent his demands of fealty, Lord Waltyr felt that there was only one option. When the dragon rider landed at Riverrun, the Tully knelt, though not all the Riverlands followed suit. The surrender was a farce, he had no intentions of actually aiding the invader in any meaningful way, yet some would not see it that way. A large chunk of the Riverland forces broke off before the dragonrider arrived, with foolhardy hopes of fighting the dragon at a later date. Fools, all of them. They bleed and died for their “honor” while *he* worked in the background, letting the Targaryen think his invasion a success, instructing lords to cooperate. Slowly the would-be-king grew complacent, coming to trust the Tully. This was a mistake that the Tully capitalized at the closure of the war, revolting against Aelyx at the last moment. Westeros would not see the wisdom in Waltyr’s actions, calling him a coward and a turncloak. For these eight years since, the Lord Tully has sat in Riverrun, dutifully rebuilding the Riverlands as the kingdom at large mocked and jeered. Recent Events Tired and ornery, Lord Waltyr now finds himself in the spartan halls of Ironhold. Whatever the point of this council may be, it better be good. Family Here Ask me on IRC or PM me on Reddit or something for a clearer version. Apparently Family Echo was designed in a way in that I can not share it without people being able to edit it... so yeah. Category:House Tully Category:Riverlands Category:Riverlander